


Postlapsarian

by thuvia ptarth (thuviaptarth)



Category: Angel Sanctuary
Genre: F/M, Incest, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-08
Updated: 2005-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:16:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thuviaptarth/pseuds/thuvia%20ptarth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall from Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postlapsarian

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago, [](http://teleute12.livejournal.com/profile)[**teleute12**](http://teleute12.livejournal.com/) asked for "Angel Sanctuary, any character(s) a year after the story's ended."

Water still speaks to her, although it doesn't call her by her true name. _Gabriel,_ it says. _Rain's coming,_ it says, or snow, or visitors; most often it's visitors. Feet slip, and by the time the hunter looks up, she's gone; mists blind the keenest eyes and dull the sharpest ears, and the arm a rough hand closes on isn't hers, is some other girl's, the pale hair turns out to be bleached, the face turns out to be too foreign, a tourist's. Setsuna still has friends in Heaven, Alexiel still has lovers in Hell; Gabriel's friends are on Earth, all around.

The first time they dyed their hair black, Setsuna's fingertips were purple for weeks. Setsuna still worries about their eyes, puts aside a bit of his pay every week, saving for contacts. It's cash, under the table, all you can get if you won't give your real name: Construction work, he tells her, and maybe it was even true the first time, before he stopped being able to look at her when he said so and started coming home with his hands bandaged or bruised. She's a waitress, really a waitress, _no, sir, I won't meet you later,_ though she'll smile sweetly for bigger tips and she's walked down the rainy day-closed street where all the hostess clubs are more than once, wondering if.

Setsuna keeps the savings in an empty coffee tin under the sink. She took out the bills from it because she wasn't sure how much it would cost. Not much, it turns out, less than tampons, which seems somehow tremendously funny, although she doesn't laugh, not when she's paying for them and not in the cafe's dim little toilet when the strip turns blue. She washes her hands and goes back to work and smiles and smiles and smiles until it's time to go home.

It's raining, but she doesn't put up her umbrella. Grey sky and grey drizzle and water gurgling in the gutters, kissing her skin cold, tangling in her hair. _Gabriel,_ it says, _Gabriel._. It's the only name water knows. It, they, water singular and plural and droplet and sea, it doesn't have a name. It _is,_ just is, nothing human or demonic or divine, and when it speaks to her its voice shakes with passion, as if to exist and to love were the same thing. She only recognizes it because her voice is the same, in the dark, when she presses her hands to Setsuna's shoulderblades and feels her fingers drowning in the softness of feathers that aren't there.

_Find Setsuna,_ she tells the rain. _Hide me from everyone else._ She presses a hand to her belly and tries to listen to the tiny sea inside. If it speaks, its voice is still too soft for her to hear.


End file.
